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WILLIAM S. 

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W1I.I.IAM S. LORD, Publisher 
LVANSTON, 

1901 




T’-’F or 

OC.,N‘QR£SS 

Two Oorifj? RtOEivF.C' 

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COPYRIGHT, 1901 
By 

Walter James Sherwood. 


• • ♦ • 


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By 

Walter James Sherwood 



little babe lay sleep- 
ing, in the long ago, one 
perfect arm thrown care- 
lessly above his curly 
head. His mother came 
and looked upon his sweet face with eyes 
filled with tender love. On his cheek was 
the peach tint of perfect health. She 
stooped and kissed the little innocent so 
softly that he did not wake, and in that 
kiss vast oceans of love and confidence 
went out to her precious little Harold. 

Not far away another babe lay sleeping. 
His chubby, dimpled hand grasped a toy 
soldier, which stood guard whilst its little 
master journeyed far away into the land of 
dreams. His mother came and gazed down 
into his face with eyes suffused with loving 
tears. No other babe in the world was 
half so dear as hers — as her darling little 
Henry. 

In a different neighborhood, in this 
place of long ago, lay a third little inno- 
cent, asleep, and he was about the age of 
the other two. His arms were as chubby, 
his cheeks as soft and peach-like, and his 
locks as fine and curly as were those of 
the other little strangers. And his mother 
was just such another sweet- faced, gentle 
woman, who came and bent over his little 
bed, murmuring words of love into his 
unheeding ears. In his mother’s eyes her 

3 



Story of Three 


little Joe was incomparable in all that is 
sweet and good. 

And so they were much alike, these 
babies three, as they lay thus in sleeping 
innocence — each blessed with health and 
a mother’s loyal love. 

They lived and thrived and grew sturdy 
and strong, and passed from childhood to 
youth and from youth to manhood. With 
manhood came opportunities, possibilities, 
temptations. 

Harold became a keen-eyed, shrewd 
man of the world. His education was com- 
pleted. He was cultured, and, as the word 
is used, refined. A member of many clubs, 
he was in constant demand to serve on 
committees and in the way to secure for 
himself substantial financial connections. 
His future was promising, his hope high 
and his ambition great. 

Time passed and events crowded upon 
him. He was called upon to use his judg- 
ment in many ways, and his decisions often 
affected the welfare of numberless people. 
One day a great conflict arose within his 
mind as to whether he would reap the ben- 
efit of a gigantic scheme he had been work- 
ing upon. If he brought it to a successful 
issue his reward in a financial way would 
be stupendous. But it would be done at 
the expense of his honor — at the loss of 
that fine sense of personal integrity that he 
had always felt proud of. 

He winced when this thought came 
home to him and resolved to stop then and 
there. 

But visions of his enormous possible 
gains were ever present in his mind and he 
pictured himself living in luxury and con- 
tentment, surrounded by servants, with his 
slightest wish gratified. He had many rich 

4 



friends and their princely ways had always 
made him secretly and profoundly envious. 

With his scheme worked to a successful 
en ^e would be as rich as the richest of 
th( 

nld be able to keep as fine a city 
ho) n as beautiful a country place, 

poj as great a stable, entertain as lav- 
ish. j and take as long a vacation abroad as 
the wealthiest of his friends. 

“ I will go ahead,” he cried. 

“Nay,” said a voice, “consider 3^our 
honor.” 

“It is an abstract thing, ’ ’ he answered 
defiantly. ‘ ‘ The men of to-day deal in 
concrete things. ’ ’ 

“Consider the thousands of peopled; 
whom you would dishonestly draw this;,’; 
money from, and of the many you would 
ruin,” repeated the voice. ?; 

“ It is the chance of fortune, ’ ’ he cried, ; ■ 
in agitation. “They put their money with jj 
me for speculation and they lose. They Dji 
might lose it elsewhere, and be just as|| 
badly ofi*. It comes my way, and by a little 
trick, I take it. I’m the gainer — and 
they? — well, it’s done every day, and I’m 
no worse than the rest of my friends. 
Come, is it not so? ” 

“Nay,” said the voice, “I am sick at 
heart. I took you for an honest man.” 

“I am one,” he cried, and then he 
paused. “Come,” he muttered, “I must 
be honest with myself. I was an honest 
man until this thing came up — and now ? 
—Well, I’ll go ahead ! ” 

He went ahead. His scheme worked 
admirably and his wealth became so great 
that even he was satisfied. 

, He drank his fill of all life’s pleasures — 
or of all that^his money could buy. If the 


Story of Three 



ruined ones who had placed their money in 
his keeping ever caused him a moment's 
troubled thought he gave no evidence of it. 

The great world throbbed on, and his 
life’s energy waxed strong and robust as 
he passed through middle age. He was 
talked about, written up by the newspapers 
as a great financier, dined, wined and feted 
to his heart’s content. He accepted every- 
thing that came and his advancement was 
sure and steady, and his wealth grew in 
proportion. His life was filled with mater- 
ial pleasures and he drank in deep enjoy- 
ment of them all. Everything yielded to 
his ambition, even high public office, which 
he aspired to for the distinction that it gave 
him. 

But the great world went on, and gave 
to this man with his vast wealth and great 
influence, but sixty seconds to every min- 
ute ; but twenty-four hours to every day. 
It gave him no more days in a year, and it 
gave him no longer to live on this 2arth, 
than it gave the poor man. 

At three score years he lay upon his 
bed. A grim figure approached and with 
its baleful eyes stared straight into his. 
He struggled desperately to ward off its 
hungry look but neither money nor influ- 
ence nor anything he possessed could ac- 
complish this. Its name was Death, and it 
laid a hand upon his brow. 

When he awoke he was in a strange 
land. Far away he could see the hills of a 
beautiful country and at their feet nestled a 
stately city, with gold- tipped domes and 
strangely beautiful minarets. He uncon- 
sciously knew it was peopled with a happy 
race. 

He started up with the intention of go- 
ing to the beautiful city, but as he rose to 


his feet beside him also rose a figure. He 
looked at it with interest. 

It was an ugly figure, and had a leering 
face, with wide, watery, grinning lips and 
an abnormal width forward of the ears that 
gave it an indescribably selfish look. Its 
eyes were shrewd and penetrating, at once 
crafty and resourceful. Its forehead was 
low and broad ; the back of the skull high 
and peaked, and covered with a shock of 
frightfully stubby, hideous hair, of no pos- 
sible color. Its neck was skinny and its 
body small — too small for such a head. 
When Harold stood up the strange being 
came no higher than his waist. 

The man shrank back. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, “and 
what are you doing here ? ’ * 

“Ah, don’t you know me?” the crea- 
ture said. 

The voice and actions were so familiar 
that Harold drew away in alarm. 

‘ ‘ Know you ? I hope not ! ” he ex- 
claimed. 

He hastened away toward the beautiful 
city, not daring to look behind. He had 
gone but a little way when he happened to 
glance down and there by his side hobbled 
the hideous figure. 

“What are you doing here?” he cried 
angrily. 

“ Why I’ve as much right here as you 
have,” the creature replied, looking Harold 
in the face with his shrewd eyes. 

“You’re an impertinent puppy,” the 
man cried, fast losing his temper, “and I 
want you to quit following me.” 

And he ran toward the beautiful city 
with all his might, thinking that he would 
soon out-distance the hobbling creature. 


Story of Three 



\!f ^ 

//// 



Story of Three He ran till his breath gave out and then 

sank to the ground. As he sat at rest he 
glanced around and by his side demurely 
sat the uncouth, horrible figure, grinning 
up into his face. He sprang to his feet and 
rushed at the imp with wild fury. He 
caught it and tried to strangle it, to throw 
it from him, to trample upon it, with all 
his strength to annihilate it, to tear it to 
pieces. But when the struggle was over 
and Harold lay exhausted on the ground, 
the unconquered figure of the leering imp 




still hovered over him. 

The man glared at the figure. 

‘ ‘ Who are you and why do you perse- 
cute me? ” he asked. 

^ “ Who am I ? ” the grotesque thing re- 

plied. “Why I can soon tell you. It takes 
just four words.” 

The creature paused and gazed at the 
man with such a strangely familiar look 
that Harold was seized with a shudder and 
a nameless consternation passed over him. 
It was as if an inkling of some hideous 
truth suddenly had come to him. It left 
him weak and trembling. 

“So,” said the strange being, “you are 
not, after all, so eager to hear my story.” 

The man shrank still farther away. The 
figure advanced. 

“Come,” the creature said, looking 
straight at Harold, and there was menace 
in its tone. “You shall hear who I am, 
whether you wish or not. You and I are 
too closely related for either of us to sulk.” 

“ Closely related.” 

“Yes, closely related. ’ ’ 

“I don’t understand.” 

‘ ‘ Yes, you do. It has already dawned on 
your mind. You and I are one and the 
same. I am a product of your life. You 
8 


built me. You made me. In other words 
I am your soul.” 

‘ ‘ My soul ? ” gasped the man. 

“Yes, your soul. If I am misshapen 
and ugly it is your fault. If I am hideous 
and unsightly to behold, you have only 
yourself to thank. And let me tell you 
that I shall follow you wherever you go. 
If you want to travel to yonder beautiful 
city, I will go with you. If you wish to 
make the acquaintance of the fairest and 
purest women in this realm I shall stand 
by your side. And recollect, my good man, 
that they too, will know who and what I 
am.” 

Harold covered his face with his hands. 

“Well,” the figure went on with its 
sneering grin, “I know it isn’t pleasant, 
but I can’t help it. You built me out of 
your own life and you’ll have to make the 
best of the situation. You see this low 
forehead and abnormally wide side-head? 
That’s the result of your thought — of your 
grasping acquisitiveness and lack of sym- 
pathy for your fellow men. See this high 
peaked roof at the back of my skull ? That 
was built by your immoderate self-will and 
your want of strict integrity. See this 
sneering, flabby, watery mouth ? That was 
made by your coarseness, your pandering 
to the glutton in you. Well, I could go on 
and tell you how each one of these features 
of mine was made, but you can guess it out 
yourself. ’ ’ 

Harold sank his head deeper into his 
hands. 

“Look around you,” continued the 
strange being, “ you will see others in the 
same fix that you are in. See that monster 
over there? ” 


Story of Three 










T'he Story of Three Harold raised his head slowly and 

{ looked over his shoulder. There he beheld 
a man walking along apparently in the 
deepest dejection. On his back crouched a 
creature even more hideous than the one at 
his side. Its neck was thick and broad, its 
jaw heavy and coarse, its lower lip full and 
sensuous and its eyes half-closed and dull, 
A thick, short crop of coarse hair covered 
his narrow, low head. 

“That,” said Harold’s shadow, “is a 
friend of yours. Don’ t you recognize him ? ’ ’ 
Harold looked closely. 

“ He looks like Henry Black,” he said. 
“He is Henry Black, once a babe as 
you once were, sweet and innocent as a lit- 
; , / / tie angel. His mother gave him the same 
undefiled love that your mother gave to 
you. She kissed his little baby face as it 
lay in its tiny cradle a million times, and 
still her love was but half told. She 
watched his chubby, dimpled hand as it 
waved in awkward glee and she caught 
glimpses of heaven in his merry eyes as 
they lit in joy at her approach. She saw 
him, with pride, grow to manhood and yet 
her later days were days of gloom and bit- 
terness, for he became a sot. He had op- 
portunities that would have made him a 
man of value to the world, but he chose to 
follow his passionate, sensuous traits and 
you see what kind of a soul he built.” 

Harold shuddered. “ Even worse than 
mine,” said he, looking at the object by 
his side. 

“Thanks for the doubtful compliment,” 
returned the other. “But we’re neither of 
us to be envied. The fact is, if you could 
look into a mirror now you would see that 
you and I are very much alike. And you’re 
in a place now where you needn’t put on 

lO 




Story of Three 


airs. They don’t go here. I’m as much 
ashamed of you as you are of me. Your 
friend is even worse off than you are and 
he hangs about on the outskirts of the beau- 
tiful city like a craven cur, and for shame 
and humiliation never dares show his face. 
Yet he would give all the pleasures he ever 
indulged in to enter its pure streets, and 
yet no one would oppose him if he tried to 
enter. You see it’s the thing on his back.” 

“ I understand,” said Harold. “It will 
be that way with me.” 

“I’m afraid so,” said the grotesque 
being. 

. nd this man, once so strong and 
powerful, fell down and wept like a child. 




The third babe grew to manhood. Be- 
hind his frank manner there burned a deep 
ambition. It was to be a great and power- 
ful man, and so fiercely did this flame burn 
within him that it gave him no rest. He 
thought of it by night and worked for it by 
day. 

He was poor. How could he become rich 
so that he might put his plans into execu- 
tion ? This was the thought that troubled 
him ; the diflBculty that first must be sur- 
mounted. He pondered long and earnestly. 
He planned and schemed and toiled and 
burned the midnight oil. His eyes blazed 
with feverish impatience and his face grew 
pale and gaunt. 

Year after year he toiled and seemed no 
nearer the goal, when suddenly the oppor- 
tunity presented itself. A great fortune 
was almost thrust in his face. He was 
stunned with joy, speechless with happi- 
ness, wild with his great anticipations. 

But when his first intoxication of joy 
was over he discovered that the offering of 




Story of Three 





■ 




roses contained a thorn. The fortune was 
not his, unless he chose falsely to claim it. 
He had it within his power to do so, and 
no one on earth would be the wiser. The 
real heirs were in distant lands and un- 
conscious of their inheritance, while the 
legal documents indicated him as the only 
living heir. He alone knew better. 

But why should he speak? Why ? What 
was the use of depriving himself of the 
means to reach fame and power and great- 
ness ? Was it not providently thrust into 
his hands for this very purpose ? 

He fought the question over a hundred 
times. He grew thin and hollow-eyed and 
became a shadow of his former self. Of a 
sudden he disappeared and was gone a fort- 
night. When he returned he quietly went 
to work again, and no more was heard from 
him of the great fortune. 

He toiled on year after year. He grew 
no richer. Opportunities came for him to 
reap rich financial rewards, but when he 
studied them he found they were at the 
expense of some one else or that they in- 
volved a surrender of his sense of honesty. 
He clung to his work, which gave him and 
those precious to him at least a livelihood, 
but little else. Yet all through life the 
hope burned within him that his great am- 
bition would yet be realized. Each new 
•'‘pportunity to win fame and power was 
greeted with eager enthusiasm, only to 
leave him disappointed in the end. 

On he toiled until his back was bent 
and his knees were stifi* with age. He 
grew weary and sick at heart — so weary 
and tired that he had no place in his mind 
even for bitterness. Still he toiled and 
hoped till the infirmities of age laid him 
low, and he took to his last bed. 





Story of Three 


“ I am a failure,” he muttered, ” a dis- 
appointment to myself and friends, and I 
am weary of life.” 

He sank to sleep with a sigh of patient 
resignation. When he awoke he lay be- 
neath a spreading tree and the air was 
filled with a balmy perfume and the sky 
was beautifully colored. He looked around 
and far off to the right at the foot of blue- 
clad hills nestled what seemed a beautiful 
city of white and gold, with spacious ave- 
nues and faultless domes. He rose to his 
feet in wonder, and as he did so he noticed 
seated a short distance from him, a youth. 

His features were indescribably fair, of 
a kind that seemed to blend the purity of 
childhood, the face of the sweet-eyed mai- 
den, and the look and bearing of strong 
and conscious manhood, all in one. 

Joseph looked at the youth with eager 
admiration. 

‘ ‘ I have never seen so fair a youth , ” he 
muttered. “What a magnificent head.” 

The youth laughed. 

Joseph joined in his merriment. It was 
infectious. ” Come, my boy,” he said, 
“since you are inclined to be friendly tell 
me who you are.” 

“Why, don’t you know me?” The 
youth laughed with great merriment. 

“ Not I,” said Joseph. 

“Isn’t there something about me that 
seems familiar ? ’ ’ 

“I am sorry to say no,” said Joseph, 
“ but I like your looks, though, immensely 
well.” 




‘ ‘ Will you go with me ? ” 

“ I cannot,” said Joseph. “lam not in 
your class.” 

‘ ‘And why not ? ’ ’ 



/ 


** Oh, I suppose you are one of the sons 
of the rich nabobs over in yonder magnifi- 
cent city. Come, is it not so ? ’* 

“ Well, pretty near. I don’t mind tell- 
ing you though, that I myself rank pretty 
high in fame and power in that very city. 
I understand they expect me there. Come, 
let us go over to it.” 

'‘No,” said Joseph, ‘‘I am not fit.” 

The youth approached and laid his 
hand on Joseph’s arm. ” Come with me,” 
he said again, almost in command. 

. “ I say I am not fit,” said Joseph, draw- 
ing back. “ I am used to toil and weary 
places, and I have no heart to enter such a 
city as that over there.” 

The youth clung the tighter to Joseph’s 
arm. He looked into his eyes and said : 
” Guess who lam?” 

‘‘A king’s son ? ” said Joseph. 

“That signifies nothing here,” the 
youth replied, “No, Joseph, I am not a 
king’s son.” 

“Well, I cannot guess,” said Joseph. 

“Come with me, Joseph,” said the 
youth, leading him almost reluctantly. 
“Only a moment ago you admired what 
you were pleased to call my fine head. I 
noticed you looking at the contour of my 
skull. This, (pointing to the upper back 
part of his crown, which appeared perfectly 
formed) was molded by the thought and 
struggles of an honest man, a man of great 
integrity of soul ; a man who preferred to 
remain honestly poor than become dishon- 
estly rich, though to do so meant the ful- 
fillment of his life’s ambition. It is in the 
upper back portion of the head that the 
faculty of integrity lies. This part, which 
gives me such height in the forward part 
of my skull, was formed by the same man’s 


14 


sympathy for his fellow-men, for he never 
could meet distress without relieving it, 
and his heart bled for the sorrows of 
his fellow-beings. It is in this portion of 
the head that the faculty of unselfishness 
lies. Here is the seat of all sympathy and 
kindness. This brow, Joseph, which in man 
is the source of all plots and plans, of all 
i calculations and deductions, of all con- 
' structive and analytic thought, of all obser- 
j vation and reflection, was built by the con- 
; stant struggles of this man to achieve a 
: great success.” 

I “And did he win ? ” asked Joseph. 

I “ Not as men measure it. And yet he 
won a far greater prize than he struggled 
for.” 

“What was that?” 

“A noble immortality.” 

“ Happy man,” said Joseph, “And are 
you one of the immortals ? ’ * 

“You may call me one,” the youth 
laughed. ‘ * I see I am still a mystery to 
you.” 

“I cannot understand,” said Joseph. 
“How came you here, and why do you 
stoop to talk to one so humble as I ? ” 

“ Ifisten, Joseph,” said the youth. “ I 
am what you have been taught to call a 
human soul. I was built on earth by a 
man of great worth. He who designed 
me was unconscious of his handiwork, yet 
every thought of his, whether in the quiet 
of his garret or in the midst of a multitude, 
whether in the gloom of his cot at night 
or in the glare of noontide, every impulse, 
every struggle, every act, every deed, good 
or bad, went into the construction of what 
you now behold. I was many years in 
building, many weary, toilsome years, and 
there were periods of grave discourage- 




Story of Three 




ment, when my builder wished to quit his 
work ’ ’ 

“Well,” exclaimed Joseph, with sudden 
enthusiasm, “ if he could now see what he 
accomplished no measure would hold his 
joy. Why, he built a masterpiece, an ob- 
ject fit to revere and worship ” 

“Not too much in praise, Joseph,” said 
the youth. “Supposing you knew the 
builder.” 

“ No fear of that,” said Joseph. 

‘ ‘ Would you like to see him ? ’ ’ 

“At a distance, yes.” 

The youth turned abruptly aside and 
after a while they came to a river of limpid 
purity. The soft, velvety grass sloped 
down to the water’s edge, and on the brink 
of the stream grew trees of marvelous 
beauty and luxuriance. The stately city 
of golden domes and beautiful minarets ap- 
peared now to be very near. 

The youth knelt down by the waters’ 
edge and bade Joseph kneel by his side. 
Joseph obeyed and his wondering look 
sought the fair youth’s mystery in the 
depths of the quiet waters. 

Then, as he saw his own image reflected 
in the mirror-like surface of the water, the 
revelation came to him like a flash. A 
great and overwhelming confusion took 
possession of him. He rose to his feet and 
hid his face in his hands. The youth 
touched his shoulder. 

‘ ‘Do you understand, Joseph?’ ’ he asked. 

But Joseph was too overcome to an- 
swer. 

And the fair youth put his arm around 
Joseph’s shoulder and led him toward the 
beautiful city. 

















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